Zealandia
by mostlypsychotic
Summary: When they found her, she was Zealandia. A short history of the secluded Maori mother and her unusual, pale-skinned son.


The mother of the Maori was rarely challenged by her island's tribes. Naturally, there were always excitable young chiefs willing to take that chance, but if they even made it past her personal tribe, they would last mere minutes with Zealandia herself, if they were lucky. She was a born fighter, but her goal was the same as the countries on the mainland. She wanted to protect her people and become prosperous, simply enough. And as long as they thrived, the outside world held little interest to the mother. But she was slowly beginning to hold interest to the outside world.

The Netherlands arrived first. Zealandia hardly needed to move before her people grew wary and attacked, driving them back into the oceans they had come from. It was fine by the mother, in all honesty. She didn't trust those odd-looking foreigners with their flashy outfits and strange weaponry, and she certainly didn't _like _the fact that they had noticed her at all. She was doing fine, she kept telling herself. Even if she started to feel ill and her feet seemed to move slower all of a sudden, she didn't need the help of the Europeans, as they called themselves.

But somehow, just as the passing boats suddenly took notice of her little island, she realized the truth. There was a reason her belly continued to grow larger despite her best efforts, and why she was sick so often, and for the first time, she was truly afraid. A child meant a successor, which in turn meant that her time would end even sooner than she thought. She feared the thought of leaving her people in the hands of a child, but she knew it was inevitable. Eventually, she even came to accept it, and left the hunting and fighting to her people as she let the baby grow inside her.

As the pregnancy progressed, she found that she was even less alone than before. France, America and Great Britain all had their share of explorers sailing into her oceans and meeting up with her tribes. Maybe out of respect for her, maybe out of curiosity, the Maori let them in, and the fighting diminished quite a bit as they began to trade amongst themselves. And maybe out of respect or curiosity, Zealandia allowed them to come.

She had never really seen a European up close until the end of her pregnancy. The same day she had decided to cut all her hair off had been the day that she stumbled across the British explorer wandering around by the same river. They looked at each other in silence, all wide eyes and nervous lips, until she took a few steps back, waited to feel water lapping at her ankles, and ran away the best she could. She hadn't really known what else to do, but there was something that stopped her from killing him. Maybe she was starting to figure it out.

She gave birth just weeks later. She never would have imagined that her baby would look the way it did, all things considered, but when it was over and she had regained her composure enough to sit up, she found the group of women staring down at the child. This dark-skinned, muscular woman had given birth to a scrawny, pale-skinned young boy. And she adored him immediately.

The outside world, at least the part of it that cared, took to calling him 'New Zealand.' Zealandia was uncomfortable with the name, truth be told. She couldn't help but feel like they were building up her little son to be her replacement, and nothing else. And so, she simply refrained from using it altogether. To her, he was simply 'my son' or 'my child' or 'my dear' on a good day. But she loved him more than anybody on that island could understand. He was her only true relative, and she would protect him with her life if she needed to.

The moment New Zealand learned to walk, he was exploring the islands just as much as his mother did. He liked Maori and Europeans alike, and would waddle around excitedly at Zealandia's side, asking countless questions and discovering all sorts of things on the ground below them. Zealandia tried to explain everything she could, even the odd trinkets that had been brought over from Great Britain and that she herself hardly understood.

"One day, my dear," she said calmly, taking a seat at the edge of the same river she had first seen the European near, "you'll be as tall as I am. When that day comes, you'll be able to go out and see the places these people have come from. They'll be able to answer every question you'll have, and you'll be one of the smartest in this world." New Zealand curled up in her lap, his big blue eyes focused on the canopy of branches above them.

"Every question?" he asked. When Zealandia nodded, he beamed, leaning up to grab her face. "When that happens, I'll bring you all the answers, so you can know, too!"

Inwardly, his mother's heart ached. On the outside, she merely smiled and grabbed his tiny hands, hoisting him to his feet in front of her and smiling widely. For now, she could pretend that the pain in her bones didn't exist, even when she was afflicted every day.

The boy hit his growth spurt suddenly and sharply. It seemed as if it was just a matter of days before he was the nation-equivalent of a human teenager. He was lively and willing to run miles, play-fight with the elders, have long conversations with the visitors. Zealandia couldn't have been more proud.

She took him up to the peak of a mountain at sunset. They sat in silence on a rock, watching the colors of the sky change before them.

"You're going to be incredible," Zealandia promised him, taking his hand in hers. "I will look down on you and tell all the others that you're _my_ son." New Zealand bit back tears now, just as aware of what was happening as his mother was.

"I'm going to make you proud," he promised in turn, looking boldly up at her. "I'll go out and find all the answers I'm looking for, like you said I would." Zealandia moved to embrace her son, her sadness finally replaced with peace.

"My child...I love you more than anything."

She died in her sleep, with a warm smile on her face. New Zealand led the trek back up to the same mountain to bury her by the same rock. He stayed behind to mourn her silently, tears falling into the dirt as he contemplated what this meant. The era of Zealandia had ended. And now, _he _was the nation. He was New Zealand.


End file.
